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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22889074">That's New</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnlighteningGravity/pseuds/EnlighteningGravity'>EnlighteningGravity</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gravity Falls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Werewolf, And suddenly when he thought it couldn't get any worse- boom werewolf, Blood, Mullet Stan Pines, Stangst, Werewolf Stan Pines, and im like hey i should post this, i just found this in my drafts from a long time ago, what harm could it possibly do</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:07:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,593</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22889074</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnlighteningGravity/pseuds/EnlighteningGravity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanley Pines is on the run and ends up getting bit by a wild dog. Or, wait, was it a dog?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>That's New</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’d fallen with fever near the end of the month.</p><p>Curled up in the back of the car, he accepted he’d done as much as he could to heal up the dog bite, and that, if Death did come, he’d better hurry up.</p><p>Out of all the ways Stanley Pines had to die, it just had to be by some dog. </p><p>It just had to. </p><p>What a joke.</p><p>No, it couldn’t have been during his jailbreak or when those mobsters planted explosives in the motel he was staying at or when the cops thought, even for just a second, they had him after robbing the jewelry store in Florida.</p><p>No, it just HAD to be a mangy, scrawny, flea-infested mutt that he crossed at a gas station way too late in the night. The infection couldn’t be helped and he did everything he could on cheap medication, hell, even looting one or two places, but the bite was too gruesome. It just didn’t seem to be healing up. He groaned at the irony of it all or at the fact he believed he was going to be sick again. One of the two. </p><p>Stanley had driven until he couldn't physically drive no more and pulled off the highway some time back, needing somewhere to stop so he could get some rest and not pass out with his foot on the gas. He had found a backroad that looked like it hadn't been driven on in some time. A little run-down road that had various different sized potholes littered about from the ground settling and forest surrounding it in all directions once he had gone far enough down it. In a better state of mind, he would have been suspicious of this area and the people it housed if there were any people. The last bit of society he saw before taking the road down was a little pit-stop town, with a small diner and everything and just thinking about it made him sick. Maybe because of the nausea associated with his illness or that he hadn't eaten in about a week. </p><p>Nevertheless, Stanley had pulled over offroad, turned off his car, sat there for a good couple minutes thinking about what to do next and then just gave up thinking and crawled in the back. He lay there holding his stomach and tried not to think about the bite on his leg and tried not to think of the pain or how absolutely weak he felt. He tried to think about anything else. Something that could, quite possibly, take the pain away. </p><p>He missed his brother beyond comparison and wondered if maybe he actually got where he wanted at this point in time. How long had it been? Well, it was July, so about three years since their parting as the estimate was. However, rational thought eluded him as his head began to throb just at the mere act of recollecting such a timeline. Maybe it was better to just silently pass on without another thought of his twin… </p><p>...and how distraught he looked when he came to the realization his future had been ambushed… maybe he got that stupid machine working again and went to that college to demand another chance… and if maybe, hey, it wasn’t that bad. Just a little trip in the wiring… barely any harm done… maybe they’re just getting that figured out now and their pa is realizing that they overreacted and they’re talking with the police, trying to get in contact with him now and maybe they’re even trying to reach him and Stanford is trying to reach him and everything is going to be fine…</p><p>Damn it.</p><p>He’s dying.</p><p>And Stanford is the only thought passing through his head?</p><p>Death better hurry the fuck up because all of this was severely hurting his brain. God, the pain was absolutely immense. He clutched his head in an iron-tight grip, growling as his vision spun back and forth and he bit his bottom lip. It instantly began to sting. His hands clapped over his mouth and he groaned in agony, trying to conjure up a distraction from all this. His mouth then went numb, the numbness spreading from his lip to his gums. Removing his hand, he squinted down at it, trying to stabilize his swinging sight.</p><p>There’s blood.</p><p>There’s blood and he’s shaking. </p><p>Stanley sat up immediately, feeling the world melt around him as he did. He furrowed his brows as he continued to concentrate on his hands and how they seemed to be...</p><p>...changing their shape, elongating at the fingertips and the nails steadily became more ragged and then, sharpened themselves. His hand stretched before his tired, tired eyes and he stared at it as he held the hand at the wrist with the other. </p><p>This… this was new. He rotated his hand, looking at both sides with a puzzled and horrified sort of curiosity. </p><p>He must… really be sick if his mind was already going off of the deep end. It all started out with a vision but then he began to process the discomfort in his hands. How they twitched and turned with every second. Shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath. This was his mind.</p><p>This was a hallucination.</p><p>One that wouldn’t stop.</p><p>This hallucination had him baffled and gritting his teeth, he could hear his heart thundering in his chest as the paw was suddenly engulfed in thick brown fur that begun to spread up his arm. He could hear himself gasp slightly as he shrugged his jacket off immediately and caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror.</p><p>His bottom lip was dripping with fresh blood, as were the canines from rows of sharpened teeth that now lined his gums. </p><p>That’s… new.</p><p>He knew it was a mild hallucination at the mercy of his ever-growing fever. But that didn’t stop him from going wide-eyed, gawking at a reflection that spun in and out of his ever faltering sight, his newly formed claws dug into the seat cushions under him, grip tightening as his frame continued to tremble with fear and agony before</p><p>The bomb hit.</p><p>A massive wave of pure and unconstrained pain shot through his body, engulfing every nerve and every muscle of his vessel and he couldn’t stop the scream that erupted from his chest. He found enough strength to claw at the door, until he latched onto the handle and pushed himself out of the car, landing on his hands and knees. Gasping and shutting his eyes tightly, his claws dug into the grass, tearing past the greenery to the earth below as he felt pressure build on his spine and his shoulders and his hips and god he wanted it to stop as soon as it came. Only one thought then passed through his mind-</p><p>'I’ve died and this is hell.'</p><p>Drool sloppily dripped from his jaws and puddled on the ground as he withheld screams of agony, deep growls emerging from vocal cords so stricken with his wails earlier they decided to become disorientated. Opening his eyes only slightly, he stared down at an emerging muzzle that protruded from his face and he pressed his forehead to the ground, hoping to silence the pressure in his head. He curled in on himself, hunching his back and hearing fabric tear as he started to claw into the earth, his limbs feeling as though they were twisting and turning, morphing like clay into a rushed and hellish project. A soft rain pelted his back and he could feel the cool of the water on his shoulders as he threw his head back and howled in anguish.</p><p>With a scream foreign to his own ears.</p><p>A sense of absolute mania darted through his mind</p><p>And a wave of darkness flooded his vision.</p><p>-----------------------------------------</p><p>He felt the tickle of moistened grass against his nostrils. Breathing in and out through them, the grass rocked to his breath, which was slow and organized. Stan grimaced and found the ability to finally open one eye to the light, hazily and squinted, and watch with blurred vision the world from his angle, his face pressed sideways against the ground and the world out of focus except for the few blades of grass that had woke him up. </p><p>Refocusing and opening now, both of his eyes, he took into account it was day, and the sky was dark gray from a morning rain, the forest surrounding him smelling fresh and strong and </p><p>New</p><p>He has never breathed like this before or took in this many different scents that were almost overwhelming him into alertness. Fully awake, Stan pressed his palms to the ground and instantly winced as he pushed himself up.</p><p>He was beyond sore. His muscles ached as though he had been in a full-bodied brawl with the assholes out for him or he had been shoved in a constrained space for the entire night. Bound and beaten, his eyes grew wide as he got to his knees.</p><p>Kidnapped? Shit, had they caught him in his feverish state and made their way out of the state with him? Dumping him off alone and sore and well, he just noticed nude. This would be awkward enough to escape as it were, but he was thankful he wasn’t dead, as he was entirely convinced he was doomed to die previously. Quite possibly, he could find a Good Samaritan to help him in his current predicament as there always was one, but never did he think he’d have to approach anybody like this. His pride was at stake and he shut down the thought immediately. But then... he could get some clothes out of the deal, for one, and maybe some actual treatment for his infection and fever-</p><p>Which he realized was gone.</p><p>He felt fine. Actually, better than he had felt in months aside from the soreness of his body. He turned to look at his leg, which was covered in mud and dirt but found that the accursed bite he acquired from that dog that doomed him to die was merely scarred over. Like it had been there for years. </p><p>He looked at the bite he had become oh too familiar with long before, furiously trying to clean the damn thing praying to whatever higher power was up there that it wasn’t rabid and that someone else had shot it. It could have easily passed for a wolf, considering its massive size, but its scrawny nature dwindled it down enough. Maybe a coyote. The puncture wounds had become infected quickly, and he cursed and spat because he couldn’t afford to go to a hospital, so he drove as far as he could west to get away from the enemies he had made while in the east so maybe he could get a bit of peace before his body decided to go belly-up.</p><p>But that never happened! And why? That bite was supposed to be infected. He was supposed to be knocking on heavens door right now, pleading the big man for a pass even though he hadn’t prayed before death as it completely slipped his mind. </p><p>Stanley got to his feet, wincing slightly at his current state. Better to get out of this now, as he was delaying the inevitable of finding help. He began walking, or staggering really, through the woods he had woken up in, hopefully finding a road so he could pinpoint a sign as to where he was. What state he was in and if he was wanted there. </p><p>He tried not to think of the oddities he’d come by in the morning. Covered in filth, nude, his bite fully cleared and his fever absolutely diminished, with his senses as functional and strong as if he were still a kid. This was all new and unfamiliar and if he were being completely honest, it scared him. Because his memory was already foggy enough to what he had gone through the night before while he was still delusional with fever.</p><p>He sniffed the air, catching something familiar enough to change his direction. He knew that scent more than any other and in a way… it smelled like home. He wondered if he was back in New Jersey. Stanley quickened his pace, dodging past trees and setting his mental path as he followed the scent that stood out beyond all others. </p><p>It was then that the flash of red that entered his vision sent a grin to his face. El Diablo gleamed at him, and he raced towards her, muttering thank-yous to Lady Luck. The back door on the passenger's side was open, which he’d have to inspect later but put it aside for now as he looked for any extra clothes that were stuffed away in the car.</p><p>Finding a spare white T-shirt and a pair of jeans, he lay them over his arm as he leaned against the passenger's side of the car and quickly dressed, promising himself he’d find somewhere to get cleaned up later. </p><p>He now drew his attention towards the backseat, in which he leaned in to fish out his jacket that was laid there, but felt his blood run cold when his eyes fell upon the door.</p><p>There were claw marks in the leather.</p><p>Desperate and deep slices trailed along the interior of the door, each attempt clumsily missing the handle. They also dug in the seats, puncture wounds that damaged them, almost like they held to the leather interior with as much determination as humanly possible.</p><p>But there was nothing human about these marks. Or nothing quite human.</p><p>His head began to hurt and he grasped his chest as he struggled to breathe. Images though disoriented flooded his vision and he remembered the fever that had caused the horrific tangent. </p><p>There wasn’t anything remotely rational about the thoughts that clouded his skull as his mind raced for answers. A stray must have gotten into his car- it was as simple as that. Or someone he’s scammed in the past had sent their dogs after him, bloodthirsty and able to track him. And after the last dog he encountered, the one that inflicted the bite, his mind must have sent him down an impossible scenario in where…</p><p>He was the one that did this to his own car…</p><p>That can’t be right.</p><p>But the thought was familiar. His memories of his mentality slipping away were familiar. The whole thing was familiar to him but the thought he was the one who did it was just crazy. It just couldn't be right.</p><p>And to him, it truly wasn’t. It was just the fever.</p><p>Just the fever.</p><p>So he stood straight, took a deep breath and made his way towards the front of the car, climbing in behind the wheel, which he gripped with ever-tightening hands.</p><p>Just the fever.</p><p>He needed to get out of here, find somewhere to stay and get cleaned up while finding it in his strength to calm down and keep his mind off the </p><p>Fever</p><p>While he started el Diablo, her engine purring into action. He would drive to the nearest town, snag some shoes and make off with what he could while trying not to think about what happened to him and why. That bite was horrendously infected and ideally would have killed him. Or was that another thing his mind had concocted up? That made sense. Stanley forced an awkward chuckle to himself as he maneuvered back onto the road.</p>
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